


Extraction

by PhoenixSavant



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Death, Fighting, Kidnapping, description of shooting death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 17:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13663899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixSavant/pseuds/PhoenixSavant
Summary: There's a lot of worry about what happened to Seven after Ray's Route.Here's what I think happened.





	Extraction

                They hadn’t just gone along quietly.  Neither agent understood the point of a peaceful surrender unless they were trying to get captured on purpose.  This was not one of those times, and they had fought with everything they had in them.  The men who had come to take the two agents were not unscathed.  They’d had to resort to pulling guns when the two agents had proved too much for them in a fair fight.

                Seven smirked as the man in the front passenger seat blotted at his nose again.  It served him right, using Vanderwood to get inside and then tazing him like that.  Seven had barreled into the man, dropping a fist into his face like a thunderbolt and breaking his nose.  All hell had broken loose then, with Vanderwood regaining his feet and he and Seven fighting back to back.  They’d done quite a bit of damage.

                Vanderwood was in the other van.  These captors hadn’t spoken much, but they’d finally found a measure of intelligence in their actions.  Seven didn’t know what condition Vanderwood was in, and that worried him.  He was certain that these men were here from his father, and that meant that Vanderwood was nothing but excess baggage.  In their position, Seven would have killed him and dumped the body.

                Seven couldn’t believe that his father had found him.  He was stunned that he was still trying.  Seven had hidden Saeran and himself and made sure not to let anything happen that would possibly draw attention.  He thought his father got the message.  He and Saeran were going to live quietly, in the shadows, and were no threat to the Prime Minister.  Clearly, the Prime Minister didn’t believe in taking chances.  Seven knew that unless he could get away, his life was running on its last minutes.  Laying in the van, hogtied, he didn’t know how he was going to get out of this.  He hadn’t given up yet, but it wasn’t looking good.

                The van rolled smoothly along a paved road.  Wherever they were heading, it wasn’t away from civilization.  Seven eyed his captors.  Two men sat, cross-legged, with their backs against the double door at the back of the van.  Two more sat against the side, facing him.  One sat with his back against the passenger seat and a gun in his hand.  The muzzle of the gun rested on his thigh, but Seven could tell that this man knew how to use his weapon by the comfortable way he held it.  If he could get free, that would have to be his first target.  With the gun in his hands, he had a chance.  Without it, he would never get clear.

                He worked his wrists beneath the knot that bound them together.  The rope felt like cheap clothesline.  It was messy, but effective.  It was rough and bit painfully into his skin.  He knew that the knots would have to be cut through.  This stuff never did work loose, only tighter.  If these guys would just look away once in a while.

                It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate their professionalism.  Not having a bunch of chit-chat on a job was part of being in this line of work.  Amateurs talked.  Professionals were silent.  Amateurs thought typing someone up was good enough.  Professionals watched and made sure it was good enough.  These guys were professionals.  He watched them, and they watched him.

                Seven wriggled his wrists in small movements, still waiting for the instant he could slip his jacket between his hands.  There was a sharpened wire hiding inside the seam around the zipper.  If he could just get to that corner of the jacket, he’d be ready to make a move.

                The van traveled on and the eyes of his captors never left him.  By the time the van slowed to a stop, nothing inside had changed.  The driver got out, but everyone else stayed in the van.  When the driver returned, he said only, “Bring him in.” 

                The doors opened, and Seven was relieved to see the second van behind the one he was in.  That improved the odds that Vanderwood was still alive.  One of them had to get free.  Only one of the two agents, and both would be free.  They could get out of this if they could just get free.

                When Seven’s captors started to slide him out of the van, he rocked his body.  It looked like he was resisting them, but all he wanted was that damn seam beside the zipper.  Aside from earning him a rough kick to the stomach, his efforts were rewarded.  He held on to the zipper tightly enough that there was no way that precious strip of cloth was going to fall out of his hand.

                Still, when Seven saw where he was being taken, he was surprised that he didn’t let go of the jacket after all.  His stomach rolled dangerously.  This was the house where he’d last lived with his brother and their mother.  Never in his most tormented nightmares, and he had some messed-up nightmares, had he expected to see this place again.

                His captors hauled him in quickly, minimizing the odds that someone on the street might have seen them.  They dropped him in the middle of the floor where mister gun guy kept watch over him.  A few minutes later, they dropped Vanderwood beside him.  One of the drivers made a phone call.  He answered a few questions and then knelt in front of Seven.  He snapped a picture and then stood and moved away again.

                “That’s one,” he said, after a few minutes.  “Did the other team have any luck?” 

                “Not sure,” said another man.  “I haven’t heard back from them.  They said something about the other kid being on the run, and then I haven’t heard anything since.” 

                “Fine.  We have to wait until we get the other one.  We’ll finish when we have them both.  Everyone settle in.  It’s going to be a long day,” he instructed. 

                As the men spoke, Seven worked the wire to the tiny hole in the fabric and pulled it free.  It took some work, but he got it to curve around the ropes and began sawing in small motions.  He really hated clothesline.  Of all the kinds of rope they could have used, why did they have to use this? 

                Clothesline is a terror to get out of because of the way it’s made.  A long, heavy, nylon and cotton cable is wrapped in a cheap nylon braid.  The nylon is cheap enough to split and crack, making the line itself feel like it was made of glass shards instead of fabric.  As the nylon frays, it bunches up and twists around the core.  The core doesn’t cut easily either.  It resists cutting by also twisting and bunching. 

                As Seven sawed away at the line, the fraying and twisting slowed his progress.  Twice, he had to pull the wire free of snags and tangles.  He didn’t stop working at it, but it was difficult not to make faces that showed the increasing frustration.  Vanderwood was here with him but hadn’t spoken or moved.  Seven’s back was to him, so he couldn’t tell if Vanderwood was alive, unconscious, or anything else about his partner’s condition.

                Persistence won the way through the clothesline, and Seven carefully made sure that he looked tied.  Extending the wire towards Vanderwood, he swung it until it hit something.  Relief made Seven close his eyes as Vanderwood took the wire from him.  All he had to do now was wait until Vanderwood got free.

                It felt like forever before Vanderwood poked Seven’s hand with the wire, letting him know that he’d also cut his way free.  Seven’s feet were still tied, but that was more manageable.  Fighting while bound had been part of the training they both received.  Bound ankles were a handicap, but not one that couldn’t be overcome.

                “Isn’t that gun getting heavy?” Seven asked, smirking at the only man he’d seen with a gun since being loaded into the van.  “Why don’t you put it away and let one of your friends take a turn?” 

                The man didn’t respond.

                “Oh, I see,” Seven mused.  “The others don’t know how to shoot, do they?  They’d end up shooting themselves, right?” 

                Still the man didn’t respond.  He didn’t even move his hand.  His gun stayed exactly where it had been all afternoon, perched on the man’s thigh.

                “I hope they all know how to handle being here when it gets dark.”  Seven tried again.  “I don’t know if you knew it, but this was where I grew up.  It was pretty awful, especially with the ghost.  I know, I know, adults don’t believe in ghosts.  My mother believed in this one though.  She wanted to move but we didn’t have anywhere else to go.  This ghost, well, it probably left a long time ago.”  Seven shrugged, listening.  He smiled inwardly as he heard a couple of men shuffling their weight nervously.

                “Uh, Seven?” Vanderwood asked, his voice full of uncertainty.  “What was this ghost like?” 

                “Oh, come on,” Seven teased.  “Madam, you can’t possibly mean to say that you believe in ghosts!” 

                “Don’t call me madam!” Vanderwood growled.  “And well, uh, no.  I wouldn’t say that I believe in ghosts.  Forget I asked.” 

                “Oh, it’s no trouble to tell you about her.”  Seven’s voice became playful, picking up a sing-song rhythm.  “I think someone must have murdered her, because her head was kind of on sideways.  There wasn’t any blood, but it just didn’t sit right.  She liked to grab people’s wrists and ankles, most of the time.  The only time she got violent was when my mother tied up me and my brother.  She didn’t like that at all.  When that happened, my mother had to untie us before night or the ghost would try to strangle her.  I can’t imagine how terrifying it was, having those cold…. Dead… fingers…. Wrap slowly around her neck…. And squeeze…. And squeeze….”

                Seven listened as the men in the room shifted their weight.  Only five men moved, but that was five men who were now feeling unhappy about the fact that the sun was going down.  He pinpointed their locations in his mind, knowing that Vanderwood was doing the same. 

                “Then we’re safe from this ghost?” Vanderwood asked.  “I mean, if she’s still here?” 

                “Yup!  We’re safe.  Anyone who tied us up is going to have a bad night, though.” 

                “Shut up, both of you,” the gun bearer said sharply.  “That’s enough bullshit.” 

                Seven eyed the man and fell silent.  He wasn’t watching Vanderwood and Seven anymore.  He was watching the other men in the room.  Seven knew that his ghost story had created some tension, and he was right to have assumed that these men had not known one another long.  Another hidden advantage that he and Vanderwood could use.

                The shadows grew long as the sun descended.  The room took on a rose and amber light that faded toward violet as twilight spread, sucking the last light of day away.  When darkness came, there was nothing but a small, battery-powered lamp brought from one of the vans for light.

                “I thought this was supposed to be done by now,” someone asked.

                “Shut up.  It’s done when we find the other one and finish the job,” another voice spoke.

                “This place is creepy,” a third voice added, from the direction Seven had marked as someone who was affected by the ghost story.

                Seven lay still in the darkness, waiting for Vanderwood’s signal. 

                “Shut up,” said the man with the gun.  “If you don’t want to get paid, I’ll fix it for you myself.  You’ll never wait for anything again.” 

                The room dropped into silence.

                Vanderwood shifted his weight and Seven tensed, ready to start fighting.  The room was in almost total darkness now.  Hours had passed and the batteries on the lamp were wearing down.  The light was growing more faint and would not last the night.

                When Vanderwood moved, a sudden explosion of activity in the darkness, Seven moved as well.  He went straight for the only gun in the open.  He rolled to his feet and launched himself into the man, grappling the gun away from his surprised captor.  He pressed the gun against the man’s head and pulled the trigger. 

                Professionals or not, it’s rare to find people who don’t stop moving when someone’s brain goes flying across the room.  It’s uniquely horrifying and messy.  If someone hasn’t seen it before, they’re likely to have an adverse reaction to the first time they see it.  It’s always worse when gobbets of brain land on the bare skin of onlookers.

                Seven didn’t like killing, but this time, he knew the score.  He could kill a few men, or he could die.  With those being the only options, he didn’t think twice about pulling the trigger.  Only three men kept moving after that.  The others stood in horror.  One began to retch.

                Vanderwood made quick work of the men who didn’t stop when Seven fired the gun.  Between the two of them, they had disarmed the other men, found a knife to cut their ankles free, and forced all their captors into a corner, facing the wall.  A couple of men had thought to fight back but a shot at their feet ended that idea.

                “Tell me you have someplace we can hide,” Vanderwood hissed in Seven’s ear.

                “Yeah,” Seven replied, his voice barely above a whisper.  “I think I have a confession to make.” 

                “A what?”

                “A confession,” Seven repeated.

                Vanderwood looked at him in confusion.  Seven’s face wasn’t showing any trace of humor, but he also wasn’t coming forward with whatever he wanted to confess.  He wondered what this kid was about to pull, and prayed it wouldn’t get them killed.

                Silently, Seven nodded toward the door, indicating to Vanderwood to go check the situation outside.  In a surprise twist, Vanderwood stepped back inside almost instantly, nodding to tell Seven that the coast was clear.  Without making a sound, Seven backed toward the door.

                How many times had he walked across this floor to sneak out?  How many times had he moved, knowing which boards were loose, which were silent, and which would screech if he stepped off of them?  It was disgusting to him that the same survival tricks he’d used as a boy were saving his life now.  He would never have to walk out of this place again.  They’d have to kill him before he’d let them bring him back.

                Once outside, Seven paused for only a split second, inhaling deeply in relief at being not only free of his father’s men, but at being out of _that_ place again.  He turned and began running up the street.  Vanderwood ran with him. 

                When Seven ran up to a church, Vanderwood gave him a funny look, but followed him.  It was only when he saw the sign that he understood Seven’s comment about making a confession.  This was a cathedral, a catholic church.  This wasn’t the time for confession.  He knew that Seven had been scared, but they shouldn’t be here.  Churches weren’t exactly a secure place and too many civilians would be around if there was a service being held.

                Seven didn’t slow, giving Vanderwood no choice but to follow him.  He took a path around the side of the cathedral, through a garden, and up to a small house.  A light shone through the windows, indicating that it was inhabited.  Seven knocked on the door, gently, politely. 

                A voice called out and Seven stepped back from the door.  An elderly man appeared, wearing a t-shirt and jeans.  “Yes?” the man asked, peering at Seven and Vanderwood.  “Can I help you, gentlemen?” 

                “Father David?” Seven asked quietly.

                “Yes,” the man squinted.  “Do I know you?” 

                “It’s me,” Seven answered, “Saeyoung.” 

                “Sae… Saeyoung?  Well, I never thought I’d see you around here again!”  Father David’s face burst into a smile.  “Whatever happened to you?” he asked, excitedly.  “Come in!  Come in!  I’ll make some tea and we can catch up!” 

                Seven shook his head.  “I’m sorry, Father.  I’d love to, but I can’t stay.  There’s some trouble about my father and, well, I told you about that before.  Can I use your phone for a moment, and would it be possible for my friend and I to wait in the cathedral until someone can come to pick us up?” 

                Father David sighed sadly and shook his head.  “I can’t believe that man is still harassing you.  Yes, of course, come and make your phone call.  I’ll get the keys and let you into the sanctuary.”  He pushed the door open and gestured for Seven and Vanderwood to come inside. 

                Seven stayed at the door but pointed to a table in the hallway before them.  “Call it in,” he said to Vanderwood.  “Get us an extraction.” 

                “You know this means we can’t go back, right?” Vanderwood asked.  “We can just find another place to live if you want to stay in touch with your friends.” 

                “Not with my father on the hunt.  He’s already after them, and if he even suspects that they know where to find me, he’ll hound them all.”  Seven shook his head, frowning.  “No, we need an extraction.  I’m compromised.  This was always how it was going to be, anyway.” 

                Vanderwood nodded, squeezing Seven’s shoulder before turning to make the call to the agency.  He took up the phone, called the handler, and gave their location.  He said something about not having injuries and then hung up the call as Father David returned.

                “I’m sorry you’re still having trouble from that man,” Father David said to Seven as he led the two agents to the sanctuary.  “It looks like you have a good companion, though, to face such a horrible situation.  You’ve grown up strong, too, I see.  Someday, if you’re able, I’d enjoy having a chance to talk to you.  You should bring your brother, too.  I was so sad when he stopped coming to school.” 

                “What do you mean he stopped coming to school?” Seven asked, his voice gone cold.

                “Well, he came to school for a few months, and then he stopped.  I was told that he was adopted after your mother died.  Horrible business, that was.  She was murdered while he was here at school one day.”

                “Oh, yeah, I’d heard about that, too,” Seven lied.  “I don’t know where he is, unfortunately.  I’m hoping that if I don’t, it means our father doesn’t either.”

                “Well, if anyone shows up looking for you boys, I haven’t seen you since you were children,” Father David smiled as he opened the door at the side of the sanctuary.  “In you go.  Just flip the lock on your way out.”  He stepped back to let the agents enter.  As Seven passed him, he rested his hand on Seven’s shoulder.  “I’ll say a prayer for you every night until I hear from you again.  Be safe, and don’t give up on God.” 

                “I never will,” Seven smiled in response.  “God is the one that put you here in the first place.  I don’t know if anyone else would have tolerated all my questions.” 

                Father David chuckled.  “Don’t forget God, but don’t be cheeky about him either.”  He patted Seven’s shoulder warmly.  “Be safe, my boy.  Go with God.” 

                Seven nodded and stepped into the sanctuary, pulling the door closed behind him.  Turning to Vanderwood he asked, “How long do we have to wait?” 

                “Not long,” Vanderwood answered.  “They’re rolling a team now.  Seven, what the fuck is going on?  You mentioned your father, and those guys that took us, they talked about the Prime Minister.  What did you do?” 

                “I was born,” Seven shrugged.  “Worse, I was born out of wedlock.  The Prime Minister is my father.  My mother was his mistress.  He’s been trying to kill me and my twin since we took our first breath.  I thought he couldn’t find us anymore, or that he’d given up, but I was wrong.  I got careless.  I’m sorry, Vanderwood.  You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” 

                Vanderwood frowned at Seven for a moment, wondering why it was he’d never been told about any of this before.  Then again, the agency was strict about agents not having family.  They were going to make life hell for the Prime Minister over this.  Seven was in the middle of some large jobs and now those jobs wouldn’t be finished because the Prime Minister had blown his cover.

                “Don’t worry about it,” Vanderwood said.  “I don’t know anything except that some strange guys rolled up in vans and got the drop on us, and you said you were compromised so I called it in.” 

                “They won’t believe that,” Seven said, shaking his head.

                “They won’t have a choice.” 

                “Don’t put yourself in trouble over…”

                “Seven, you idiot, how many times have I been in trouble over you already?  You still don’t get it, do you?  You’re like a brother to me.  An annoying, self-absorbed, depressed, egotistical little brother who plays pranks, makes too much noise, and gets me in trouble, but a brother.  Why don’t you stop acting like you don’t know it?” 

                Seven smiled slowly, the first smile he’d felt on his face in days.  “Yeah, and you’re the overbearing, rule-mongering, pushy, always right, no sense of humor big brother.” 

                “Good,” Vanderwood responded.  “I’m glad to hear you admit it.” 

                Seven’s smiled flickered and fell from his face.  “Vandy, the RFA, they’re going to be worried about me.  They’ll try to find me.  How can I tell them not to look too hard?” 

                Vanderwood pursed his lips thoughtfully.  “What if they found a tracker?  Do you think they’d get the message then?” 

                “They might, but I’m not wearing one.”

                “I am,” Vanderwood smirked.  He reached up and pulled a button from his jacket.  He dropped it on the floor and kicked it backward, to fly along the floor under the pews.

                “Thank you,” Seven said, settling on the pew beside Vanderwood.  “I hope they understand.” 

                “If not, you can always tell them later, when we can get back in touch again.” 

                “That’s not going to happen.” 

                “Huh, and here I thought this stuff about calling yourself God Seven was because you thought you could get away with things you weren’t supposed to do.” 

                Seven looked at Vanderwood and for once, wondered just how far this man would go to protect him.  “Well, maybe in time,” was all he said aloud. 

                Morning was approaching when the agency team arrived.  Seven and Vanderwood were taken to a small airstrip outside of town and flown out of the country.  During the debriefing, Seven revealed his ties to the Prime Minister and the location of the men who had captured he and Vanderwood.  The agency sent in sweepers but before they could leave, Seven and Vanderwood watched the news in shock.

                Zen was on the TV screen, reading a script that told everything about the Prime Minister, Seven, Saeran, and the kidnapping.  It showed the house where Seven had just escaped.  By now, then, the RFA would have found the tracker that Vanderwood left behind.  Seven was startled to hear that his brother was now with the RFA, but relieved to hear that he was safe.  Jumin had really come through.  If it hadn’t been for Seven’s identity as an agent being compromised, he could have gone home.  Even so, maybe Vanderwood was right and he’d be able to make contact again once things calmed down.

                Nearly six months later Seven and Vanderwood shared a meal at a café in the Mediterranean.  Their identities had been scrubbed and new, forged IDs created.  They were relocated and given a new house to work from.  Truthfully, Seven didn’t mind this climate.  He also didn’t mind that the agency had crated up his babies and shipped them to him.  There were perks to being a good agent. 

                Vanderwood had received their new job and was trying to go over the high-level details with Seven.  Seven was ignoring him, though.  He was watching a live stream of his father’s trial.  It was almost over.  Another few days and then his father was going to prison for life.  Once that happened, everyone would be anxious to put the entire mess behind them.  His father’s name and criminal legacy would be swept under the rug by every person in the nation, never to be mentioned again.

                “Seven!  Would you just pay attention for five minutes?”  Vanderwood snapped irritably. 

                “Yeah, yeah, I’m paying attention,” Seven lied.  “But I have a question for you.” 

                “Oh?” 

                “Yeah, how would you feel about going back to Korea after this one?  Do you think they’d let us?”

                Vanderwood wanted to be angry that Seven was still flaking out on his work, but he understood.  Korea meant the RFA and his brother.  He smiled out at the ocean.  It was good that the kid kept hope in his heart, and well, the agency was thrilled with both of them since the extraction.  “I think we can ask, and if they say no, well,” Vanderwood paused and smirked.  “If they say no, well, I’m getting too old for this shit anyway.” 

 


End file.
